Pinwheel sandwiches of power
by indiagold
Summary: John is always concerned about Sherlock's eating habits and he finds a clever way of ensuring Sherlock gets his vitamins and minerals. However it all starts with a little toy box.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of BBC TV's Sherlock characters.**

**Please read and enjoy. It all begins with the box and childhood memories. Bear with me I will get to the sandwiches eventually.**

Chapter 1 The Box

It all started when John had gone over to Harry's place to help pack up her stuff ready for the move to her new studio flat. She said she didn't need anything larger, well not now that the break up with Clara was seemingly permanent, in spite of a few reconciliations; always resulting in broken promises and angry texts.

"Hi there", she said, opening the door and waving John in. "I'm mostly sorted with my books; it's just the kitchen things. I've got three packing cases still empty and I think they will do."

Harry was a petite, blonde doll of a woman, her eyes a shade lighter brown than John's. He still thought of her as the fresh faced anxious teenager that she had once been, but now she looked so, (well-silly thought really), a small, bereft adult wearing a plain white tee shirt, blue jeans and mule slippers. Her hair was tied back in a simple pony tail. He felt sorry for his sister because he loved her dearly in spite of the drink and everything.

They spent the rest of the day wrapping up cutlery, plates and saucepans and packing them into the boxes. Sometimes they reminisced about times past like their birthday parties when Mum would make her famous pinwheel sandwiches-just right for little fingers.

Occasionally, Harry would offer John things that she insisted weren't needed. And so it was that later that evening, John returned to Baker Street with twelve small soup bowls, six red coloured and six white, together with a brand new juicer. Clara had given it to Harry as a present a couple of years ago, but then….All these were placed in an old toy box that Harry had found in the back of a cupboard. John had recognised it at once. A rectangular pine wood affair, a bit bashed about and minus its hinged lid. It had been theirs as children and he was pleased to take it. John you see was a practical man and reckoned it would have a use.

The flat was deserted and John placed the box containing his goodies on the kitchen counter. Taking out the contents, he sighed with pleasure. He piled up the red bowls-they would be detailed to become Sherlock's experimental items, and the white ones he piled up ready for rinsing out later. They would be for eating from. He had already prepared an explanation of this for Sherlock which he would deliver in the sternest tones.

Thinking of his mad flatmate, John decided to hide the Juicer in the back of one of the cupboards. Obviously, it wouldn't remain undetected for long by the madman, who no doubt would grab it with glee, tear off the packaging and take it apart. Although John was a good cook he wasn't quite sure whether he needed it, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let Sherlock wreck it. That would mean another strong talk at some point.

That left him with the old toy box. Going back into the sitting room he rummaged around on Sherlock's desk for a marker pen. Yes this would do-a thick black one. He went back into the kitchen and putting the box on its side, wrote along its length: SHERLOCK'S BOX.

Suddenly, a noise of thunderous footsteps up the uncarpeted stairs: the door flung open until it nearly bent on its hinges and a cry, "John! I solved it." Heralded the return of Sherlock.

John looked towards their living room as the swirling mass of long wool cat and glittering eyes barrelled towards him.

"It was the second cousin once removed" he said breathlessly, his eyes darting around the kitchen and then at John. "It was all there in the will of the late Jonathan Milverton. She was mentioned as a minor beneficiary- oh I do love those because they are so bitter and you know where that leads to?" Sherlock cocked his head and stared at John expectantly.

"So….. she was the murderer?"

"Precisely!"

John was about to go and get his laptop to start noting down the details of Sherlock's new case on his blog, when Sherlock suddenly pointed a long delicate finger at the box.

"What is that? "He said accusingly.

"It's a present for you. It's got your name on it." said John calmly.

"Oh no, not more of your sentimental rubbish." Sherlock snorted.

"Look," John continued mildly, "You can store the papers in this box, you know ones that you don't need for the present, or will maybe need in the future, that way they are all in the same place."

John waited for a reaction. Sherlock seized the box and grabbing the marker pen in his right hand wrote swiftly. Thrusting it back into John's chest, he said "There, you see it's a John box."

John turned the box around and stared at it. Sherlock had added right across John's carefully inscribed SHERLOCK'S BOX. Simply , (in his own beautiful written hand; this). **And John's**.

John felt warmth spread through him. _Our box_, well it wasn't quite what the practical John Watson had intended it to be but it made him feel good, and he beamed at his flatmate.

As if reading his thoughts, Sherlock continued, "Well of course it is factually yours, because you are the one who ridiculously insists on tidying up and therefore you are the one who benefits from it. It is you who will be using it most. Ergo it is a John Box."

John's heart failed a little as he heard those words. Sherlock was right as always, John had gottent it for himself, but he had hoped that his friend would appreciate the gesture-No. But he wasn't a man to give up and if he was honest, he was very glad that Sherlock hadn't deduced that it was any old box. John couldn't have borne Sherlock strutting his stuff about John and Harry's childhood.

Squaring his shoulders, John marched into the living room with said box and put it on the floor beside Sherlock's desk. He carefully positioned it so that the odds were, when Sherlock chucked boring documents around that he had no need for, they would (well, maybe fifty per cent of the time) land in the box. A minor victory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Pinwheel sandwiches of power**

Chapter 2

Sherlock flung himself on the sofa satisfied and humming to himself. John knew that this was a window of opportunity to ensure that his flatmate ate something. So John set about making Pasta Carbonara. He was pretty sure that Sherlock had only eaten some cornflakes and milk a couple of days before, but nevertheless, as he put the spaghetti on to simmer, he went upstairs to his room to check his stash of shortbread biscuits. He kept these in the drawer of his bedside table for when he was hungry in the night and couldn't be bothered going downstairs to the kitchen. He always knew over the many months he had been with Sherlock, that occasionally, said flatmate, would pretend not to eat, and yet always seemed to find time to raid John's stash of shortbread cookies.

Yep, the tin of shortbreads was still pretty much half full. The funny thing about the World's Greatest and Only Consulting Detective, was, that when he stole food, he did not just abduct one biscuit or cookie, **but many**. Did he realise, that to escape detection, it is better to just take one or two? That way, few people would notice?

That established, John hurried down to the kitchen and started making the Carbonara sauce.

"You fancy something to eat? Called out John

"Sure, whatever. " replied Sherlock

John continued to prepare their evening meal.

Suddenly, Sherlock ran into the kitchen. "John, Lestrade has e-mailed four witness statements-this is brilliant!" John sighed.

Actually, as he looked at the amount of pasta he had made it was probably enough for three instead of two. Never mind. Sherlock won't be eating tonight. He's on the case.

John ate his portion, washed his plate and then watched rubbish telly to the sound of Sherlock's "Uums and aah yes." Finally at 10pm he decided to go to bed. He went into the kitchen and placed the rest of cooled excess spaghetti meal in a clean plastic box and deposited in the fridge. He hated waste, for after all, he was used to rubbish army rations –you ate when you could and whatever you were given and be grateful for it. It would do for tomorrow. Maybe Sherlock would have solved the case and would eat it. It would be fine, just a bit of reheating.


	3. Chapter 3

Later that evening, John was preparing tuna and mayonnaise sandwiches for the following day for his lunch at the surgery. He had a habit of doing this and then popping them into the fridge ready for the next morning. He had learnt from living with Sherlock these past six months, that it was not unusual to spend a sleepless night either out chasing criminals or listening to Sherlock's violin at all hours. Therefore, he would often be too tired to think of making anything to put in his lunch box, and would invariably end up buying some fast food which he would rather not; as he preferred things he made himself.

Sherlock was at his desk muttering and variously making notes on his foolscap pad, then swapping to his laptop searching goodness knows what websites. He'd been like that all day and not eaten of course.

That is when a thought struck John. He had noticed that sometimes Sherlock would eat, albeit abstractedly, as though his body was telling him but his mind wasn't.

He remembered little incidents like the day he had set down a newly made cup of tea and some biscuits on the kitchen table where Sherlock was peering into his microscope. John's phone had chimed and he ended up in the living room taking a call from Jeannie who was very upset about the fact that John had forgotten about their date. The call hadn't gone well and John went back into the kitchen sighing.

He noticed that one of the biscuits had disappeared along with half of his tea. He could have sworn he hadn't touched them. This and other minor incidents like seeing Sherlock absentmindedly grabbing a handful of popcorn or crisps that happened to be nearby-actually John's stuff for while he was watching a movie.

Hmmmh. John looked at the left-over tuna/mayo mixture. There was enough to make a small sandwich. Suddenly, he was back in the memories of his childhood. He was watching his Mum making party food. Yeees. Pinwheel sandwiches:

they are so tiny. That was the revelation John had then. Sherlock subconsciously would only eat very small amounts when he was working. Now how did Mum make them?

He took a piece of sliced wholemeal bread, buttered it then cut off the crusts. He spread the tuna mixture over it and rolled the bread slice up. Wrapping it firmly in cling film, so that it looked like a Christmas cracker, he put it in the fridge to chill. He would wait an hour or so and then slice it into little pinwheels.

Another thought occurred to him. The juicer machine. Yes, with that he could make all kinds of vitamin and mineral rich drinks. John became excited at the prospect. They had some shot glasses somewhere. Again the word 'small' came to mind. If he could just put this type of drink beside Sherlock then '**He**', might just drink it without thinking. Excellent!

He took the juicer out of the cupboard, and opening the box, searched for the recipe booklet. Scanning the recipes, he realised he had enough vegetables, fruit and herbs to make a power drink packed with all the things that Sherlock's body might need, or at least some of them.

He decided on a mixture of the following: Lettuce, one eating apple, ginger, garlic and parsley. He washed chopped and juiced. It ended up looking greenish and when he tasted it, well, he reckoned he'd overdone the garlic, but hey, this was not necessarily about taste but whether Sherlock would take the bait.

He found the shot glasses; Well two, anyway-what happened to the other four? Thoroughly cleaning one of them, he selected a dinner plate. He had debated using a side plate, but he reasoned using a larger plate would make everything look smaller still. This might trick Sherlock into thinking he was hardly eating.

He placed the shot glass full of the weird looking greenish liquid in the centre and then arranged five little pinwheels, about three quarters of an inch wide, which he had cut from the sandwich roll. Smiling at his creation, he made himself a cup of tea and, with that in his left hand and the plate in the other, he went into the living room, He would put the "experiment" as he now began to call it, beside Sherlock and then sit down in his armchair and fill in one of his cryptic crosswords. Simple.

Problem! Sherlock's desk was completely cluttered with paper: the laptop sitting supremely in the middle. _What the Hell_, _where do I put the "experiment?_"

John was annoyed with himself because he had been so caught up in the excitement of trying to make Sherlock eat; he had forgotten that he needed to place the food within hands reach of said annoying flatmate. Now Sherlock would notice if….Oh no. Strangely, as if on cue, Sherlock suddenly swept away a pile of papers from his right hand side, crying, "This is rubbish!" the papers scattered and billowed, falling eventually to the floor.

John, the army man, took his opportunity. He waited about thirty seconds until he was sure that Sherlock was engrossed again in something on his laptop. He walked over to the spare space on the desk and quietly deposited the "_experiment"_. He then sat down in his armchair and started to solve the latest newspaper cryptic crossword.

Fifteen minutes ticked by and John had pretty much solved two thirds of the crossword. He had kept glancing secretly at his friend, but the '_experiment'_ had remained untouched. Then, a skinny hand darted towards the shot glass. John, watched for a moment as Sherlock threw the contents down his throat. Another dart and a pinwheel sandwich followed the same route. John breathed out in relief, a breath he never realised he had been holding. The rest of the **'pinwheel sandwiches of power'**: (as John had now begun to call them in his own mind), followed suit.

Five minutes later, Sherlock leapt up, and grabbing John's newspaper, shouted, "This case is so easy, should have seen it before."

"Yeah, I'm sure." said John," but can I have my crossword back? I was on the last clue you know!"

"Oh, that's easy. 23 Down: Plain fare for poor people. (5,3,5) Answer: Bread and Water!"

Sherlock leaned in close to John and said quietly, "My blogger, friend and Doctor ensures that I have better, than that, doesn't he?"


End file.
